Our Love to Admire
by sapereaude13
Summary: A series of Balthier/Ashe stories inspired by songs from the band Interpol. Newest story - Admissions: Balthier and Ashe spend a night together and make fools of themselves.
1. Amber

Our Love to Admire – Amber

Balthier/Ashe, PG-13

Inspired by: A Time to Be So Small, from Antics

* * *

_We saw you in distraction:  
a sleeping slow despair  
Rehearsing interaction, he wasn't even there_

-A Time to Be So Small, Antics

* * *

The inn is dark when he returns. It will take days to reach Jahara. They'll have to slog through the rains in Giza, and they'll all be sniffling and ill when they reach Ozmone. It won't exactly be a pleasant journey, but as he pats his pocket and feels the ring safely held within, he knows it's all worth it.

A few weeks ago, if anyone had suggested that he'd be following a deposed Princess and her ragtag crew around, he would have laughed. But now he holds the only item of value to said Princess, and he knows he did it for the right reasons. If she's going to take on Archadia, she's going to need to cut all her ties to her past. She acted strangely in the tomb that day when they'd gotten the shard and her lieutenant turned traitor.

Her dead husband's name had been on her lips, and that was when he knew she'd never be able to keep going unless the ring was his. Sure, it wasn't the kindest thing he's ever done, but he's not a kind man. He'd expected hatred in her eyes – he'd counted on it. But he'd almost handed the ring right back when he'd seen the sorrow in her eyes as she dropped it into his palm, the hesitation in her shaking hand as she withdrew it. But all it had taken was a little quip about finding something more valuable for her to storm off, the sadness replaced with the fury he's far more accustomed to in her.

Fran had been displeased with his decision, suggesting that he give the Princess some time to process what the assistance of sky pirates can cost. Basch had eyed him warily for the rest of that afternoon, and the Sandsea had been a good hideout for the evening. A good meal, the last he was like to have for several days and a few pints. He supposes that stumbling around tipsy wasn't the best idea, and he'll surely regret it in the morning. But there's an itch in his mind he can't scratch, and he thought the Sandsea's best ale would be able to help him get over it.

It's only led him to dwell on it more. He nearly tumbles through the inn door, trying not to laugh at his lack of balance. The nagging in his mind? It's her. He thinks he's taken her ring to help her move on, but doesn't that make him a hypocrite? He can't ignore his own past. Ever since that damned Ghis had mentioned Draklor on board the Leviathan, he hasn't been able to shake it. What exactly is Cid up to? Why does he feel cruel for stealing Ashe's only remaining keepsake when it would amuse him in any other circumstance?

His head is swimming, but in a pleasant way. He'll be leaning over his basin in a few hours' time, but for now he feels pretty good. The banister keeps him upright as he trudges up the stairs in the dark, only a pathetic excuse for a candle indicating that there are rooms waiting above. Realization strikes when he reaches the top of the steps – no key. And it sure is late. Vaan won't wake up, but Basch will be annoyed with him – more for drinking than for waking him. He's learned that Basch is honorable to an annoying degree and will find some way to punish him for his behavior. No doubt he'll be carrying the heaviest pack in the morning.

Sighing, he leans an arm on the doorframe to steady himself and knocks quietly on the door. He presses his forehead against his hand, mentally begging Basch to hurry up so he can lay down already. But when the door opens, he realizes his mistake.

Where he expected a man his own height, he looks down to see a rather irritated looking Princess staring at him. Ever the prissy thing, she has a room to herself and as far as he can see, it looks a bit nicer than the rest. Basch's doing, no doubt – spoiling her even though she is only Princess by sheer force of will now.

"Ashe, hello," he mutters, his words slurring more than he should really allow them to. He should have stopped after six…or seven probably. "Good evening."

The woman could make eye rolling a science. "I don't believe this." She points. "Two doors down on your left."

Looking past her, he sees an extra bed in the room. It's a lot closer than two doors down on his left. "Need a roommate?"

"No."

Logic tells him the smart thing to do would be to say good night and leave her alone, but she's been on his mind all night and the alcohol hasn't helped. He barely knows this girl, but somehow, he can see her mucking everything up for him. His carefully constructed little life, gallivanting about Ivalice with Fran, a reputation that is largely artifice just like everything else about him. But Ashe started unraveling it all when she'd demanded he steal her away and now he worries that he and Fran won't be able to get out. Especially now with this nethicite business.

"Captain won't like it if I wake him," he explains, wagging a finger at her blurry image. She's got on some rather nice nightgown, something he never got to see during their trek to the tomb. "Nice pajamas."

"Balthier, go to bed. We leave with or without you at dawn," she replies, gripping the open door tightly enough for him to see her knuckles turning white.

He smiles the smile that usually works. "Come now, you can't leave without me." He pulls the wedding band from his pocket and holds it up. "You've already paid for my help."

She moves to slam the door in his face but stops it before it closes on his fingers. Her eyes are dark, and her jaw is set. "Are you here to rub salt in a fresh wound?" she asks, and he watches her gaze settle on the ring.

Why is he doing this? He's being cruel, and even men without consciences like himself should know better. Slipping it back into his pocket, he steps forward and is surprised when she yields. He sits down on the extra bed heavily while she closes the door.

"Basch will not be happy that you're drunk," she says quietly, moving to her satchel of clothing. "You need to mask the smell."

Why is she even helping him? He'll never understand females. Even Fran remains a mystery to him after these many years traveling together. Ashe digs through the satchel. He sees a wry grin emerge on her face, and his drink-addled mind blurts out what he'd normally keep in check or word more flirtatiously. Instead it almost sounds sincere, very unlike him. "You should smile more. You're very lovely when you smile."

Her hand closes around something in the bag, and even though she's clearly still upset with him, he sees her blush. She walks back to him and holds out two small vials. "What do they normally smell like? I've got lilies or amber."

"They?"

Ashe scowls. "Your lady friends. Better a brothel than a tavern. I think Basch will be more lenient."

He moves his hands and wraps them around each of her wrists. "My dear, I think you've misjudged me."

She hasn't. Although, he reminds himself in irritation, it's been some time.

Ashe jolts at his touch, and he notices that without her armor she's very small. Her wrists are tiny, and his hands nearly engulf them. The mattress is very soft beneath him, and he can smell the amber perfume on her skin. He's had enough to drink. With any other woman he'd probably have already pulled her atop him. Again, he barely knows her – he barely knows anyone he takes to bed, but somehow he feels terrible for touching her. Like he's breached a barrier forbidden to him, though she is deposed and for all intents and purposes, no less common than Penelo or Fran. Normally, he likes challenges. Why is he hesitating with her?

He can feel her pulse and it's been increasing since he's grabbed hold of her. Isn't she supposed to be furious with him? Her face is flushed, and he realizes that it's dark enough in the room. He could be anyone. She keeps seeing a dead man, and no one's probably come so close to her since her husband was alive. The man's ring is burning a hole in his pocket, and he realizes why he shouldn't be doing this.

He releases her and rises from the mattress. Inhaling her scent, he nods and points to her right hand. "Amber."

She steps back, clearing her throat as she does so. Something's changed. He's not sure what, and he hopes that sleeping it off will help him to forget. "Close your eyes," she whispers. He does so and hears her spray him with the perfume a few times, the misted liquid hopefully masking the scent of the Sandsea. The richness of the perfume doesn't help with the alcohol he's had, and he'll probably throw up as soon as Basch lets him in. Her fingers are cold against his throat then as she rubs a bit of the perfume against his skin. He bites his lip to avoid making any noise of encouragement, and she takes her fingers away soon enough. "There."

Opening his eyes, she's already disappeared from sight, and she's behind him putting the bottles back in her satchel. "Thank you."

She moves to the door and doesn't look at him when she opens it. "Good night, Balthier."

"Good night, Princess," he mutters as he departs, the smell of her now enveloping his senses even when she closes the door behind him.


	2. Amalia

Our Love to Admire – Amalia

Balthier/Ashe, PG

Inspired by: The Scale, from Our Love to Admire

* * *

_Pick a rose and hide my face  
This is a bandit's life  
It comes and goes and them's the breaks_

-The Scale, Our Love to Admire

* * *

If they weren't the only Humes mucking about in the waterway, he would be convinced that this girl was traveling alone. Were they on the streets of Rabanastre above, she'd be far ahead – in some other part of the city completely away from the boy, Fran and himself. Her steps are quick, and she doesn't seem to care about the filthy water that is splashing on the armor adorning her legs and surely through to her skin. Though she walks ahead, he catches her attempts to look back at them. She isn't as subtle as she thinks she is. He supposes that the loss of her fellow insurgents has been quite a blow, and she is no doubt suspicious of her rescuers.

Balthier is rarely one to question the moral code of others, but he can't help but be curious. This Amalia scoffed at his chosen profession, yet she and her fellow terrorists laid siege to the palace themselves. What's a little thievery compared to planned murder? Surely they were after Solidor. She was rather quick with that blade of hers and quicker still with her tongue when she agreed to follow them out the waterway. He'll hang back and observe for a while before making conversation. It is a long way out of the sewers yet.

The boy, Vaan, seems to be wholly entranced by his partner. Much as the little thief annoys him already, it amuses him far more to watch the boy follow Fran with that gobsmacked expression. Rabanastre is crawling with freedom-loving Viera – why should Fran be so different? But he smiles, remembering the way he'd been so taken with her in the first days of their partnership. There was something about Fran that made one's head spin in the most intoxicating fashion. Balthier watches Vaan move his dagger from hand to hand, nervously wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers as they walk.

"So um, why did you become a sky pirate, Fran?" Vaan asks, his voice cracking and stumbling.

He shoots a glance to his partner, who looks ready to commit homicide. Fran isn't so very tolerant of younger Humes – Balthier himself had been a terrible nuisance to her in the early days. He suspects that he is still a nuisance on occasion. The young woman has noticeably slowed her pace. Perhaps she too is curious as to Fran's reasoning for a partnership with a thieving sky pirate.

But she and Vaan are both disappointed. Fran has never given anyone a straight answer to that particular query. "My tree house collapsed," she mutters, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold in a chuckle. She hasn't used that answer in some time.

Balthier decides that staying behind with the curious boy and Fran in one of those moods would only cause him to pull a muscle laughing. Strolling on ahead, he sees the young woman's hand move to rest atop her scabbard as he approaches. Quite fascinating really. He helped to rescue her from certain impalement at the hands of the Archadians and yet she is still hesitant. Perhaps that is what is drawing him forward. Most women are charmed by him outright. This girl is suspicious, secretive and probably quite attractive when not covered in sewer muck.

"Amalia, was it?"

It hasn't been more than half an hour since their introductions, but something in the way she'd said the name had struck him as odd. Probably an alias – she'd be smart to use one as an insurgent. It had taken him the better part of a year to get used to introducing himself as Balthier. Second nature now, but the way Amalia had said her name reminds him of those early days.

She nods, slightly relaxing her hand on the scabbard. Looking closely, he is surprised by the craftsmanship in the sword hilt and the gilded metal of the scabbard. A rather well-funded and well-equipped insurgence. Rumor had it that Knights of the Dalmascan Order were leaders, but who was this girl? Younger than him, older than Vaan…but not old enough to have been in the Order. He can't recall if the Order even admitted women. Rabanastre is a rare stop for him and Fran these days.

"Is that a sword of the Order?" he inquires calmly, seeing her eyes darken at the question.

She keeps her gaze fixed ahead, the mazelike pathways seeming to keep her attention. "Why? Do you intend to steal it?"

He likes this girl already. "I believe I've stolen enough from this country tonight." Leaning over jovially, he takes his leave to glance down her top. Luckily, she doesn't seem to notice. Or perhaps life in a resistance movement has hardened her enough to expect such attentions.

"I was under the impression that your friend was the actual thief," she retorts.

Balthier perches his gun on his shoulder and grins. "That is still being negotiated."

"What's the saying? No honor amongst thieves?"

"That's a lot coming from someone like you."

She finally turns to glare at him. "Someone like me?"

He can hear Vaan nagging Fran several paces behind them. If she were there, she'd tell him to leave the poor girl alone. Luckily Fran is occupied, and the girl seems like the perfect target for his teasing. "A murderer."

Amalia's hand tightens on the sword hilt once more, ignoring the humor in his accusation. "You know nothing about me."

He never thought he'd encounter someone as guarded as this. Sure, thieves and cutpurses aren't inclined to betray the secrets of their hearts, but Amalia seems to be protecting something far greater than the location of a trinket. "That may be true, but I saw the little fracas in the courtyard. You and your comrades were killing some of Archadia's finest."

She quickens her pace, but his legs are longer and she'll have to break into a solid run if she thinks to escape him. "And you would defend what they have done here? You speak as the Archadians do. A bit extravagant for a sky pirate."

There is truth in that. He's erased his past as best he could, but he never sought to change his manner of speaking. His voice tends to command respect around lesser pirates, or so he has tried to convince Fran. But Amalia's manner is rather sophisticated for a member of the Lowtown resistance. The Archadians surely hadn't killed all of the Dalmascan gentry. Perhaps Amalia has noble origins. She certainly has the impudence of a blue blooded aristocrat – he should know. He is from such a background and has inherited similar personality traits. But she would probably deny it. Her name is faked, her sword is authentic. Who is this woman?

"I'm a man without a country, Amalia. I seek only my own profit."

A slimy toad hops into their path, and she's already sliced the thing up before he has his gun aimed for the thing's head. Very impressive little insurgence movement. They may actually have a chance. They'll never overthrow Archadia – but they'll certainly be a problem for the new consul.

Fran and Vaan hurry forward to ensure that the toad has been dispatched, and his private conversation with Amalia ends. It is too bad they'll be going their separate ways – there is far more to her than first glance would impart.


	3. Nocturne

Our Love to Admire – Nocturne

Balthier/Ashe, PG

Inspired by: C'mere, from Antics

* * *

_Oh, how I love you  
In the evening, when we are sleeping  
We are sleeping. Oh, we are sleeping_

-C'mere, Antics

* * *

The mountain air clears his sinuses, but not much else on his mind. Having one's own airship usually negates long journeys like these, and he tends to let his mind drift to unpleasant things when he's saddled with foot travel. He misses the familiar hum of the Strahl, the lights on her panels, and the sturdy pilot's chair. Instead, he's sitting on a rock with his gun in his lap on watch.

Halfway to Archades now since they left Bur-Omisace behind. Every day a step closer to a place he sought never to return. Sure, he's been to the outskirts of the capital several times on business, but Archades proper, never. And Draklor, to boot. It's not going to be easy getting in there, and he'll have to find some contacts from the old days – ones who won't sell him out within minutes. They only need transport to the building. He can still visualize the sterile corridors even though he hasn't been there in years. And even then, he wasn't supposed to be there, but the top scientists had privileges and sometimes let their offspring traipse about the place.

Glancing over, he wonders how he'll tell them. He wonders if he _should_ tell them. Of course, Fran knows about Cid. Not every minute detail, but enough to know how difficult this journey is for him. Basch might suspect – Balthier hasn't exactly masked his interest in the nethicite, and the knight is a fairly steady judge of character. Perhaps he's already made some connection between his accent and Archadian origins not so far beneath Larsa's on the social ladder. He'd be right.

Vaan and Penelo, he muses. Would they have aught to say if they knew just how intertwined he was with the Empire, whether he chose it or not? Though the years have come and gone and he's stayed away, the bonds of family are not easily broken or erased. And while the man at Draklor is not the one who left for the Jagd Difohr, the family resemblance is uncanny. Does Cid look the same? Or has his madness changed him into something else? Vaan and Penelo will surely put it together if they confront Cid. Will they hate him for saying nothing? And why does he care?

And the Princess. Sighing, he lets his eyes drift to her sleeping form, and despite the mass of blankets and her placid face, he knows she's got her sword by her side even now. How much the two of them have changed in these many weeks together. This is her journey more than any of theirs. Rarely does Balthier enjoy being a mere passenger on a voyage, but though his burdens weigh heavily on him, he knows that hers are far worse.

He runs. Ashe confronts. There is a strength in her that he'd suspected from the start, but there is more to it than that. How one can press on, refuse to back down even when all is lost…widowed and orphaned within weeks and then declared dead yourself. He does not entirely understand how she can face each day with such stubborn determination. He's never been a patriot, so Ashe's devotion to her country confounds him. Were their situations reversed, he'd probably turn his back on Dalmasca as Dalmasca has turned its back on her.

There is a rustling in the mossy reaches just outside of their camp, and he tears his eyes away from her to scan the darkness. Nothing but a lost worgen pup looking for his pack. No point firing a bit of shot at it. Sweet little Penelo is remarkably demonic when woken suddenly from a deep sleep, and he'd rather not deal with her in such a frenzied state. Balthier watches the animal sniff the ground a few paces away, tensing as the pup catches their scent. The little thing hurries away, realizing that he is far outnumbered, and Balthier relaxes.

He turns back to see that Ashe's sleep has become troubled. As it has for the past few nights. While he cannot speak for when they rested at Nalbina, every night in camp since they left Paramina, Ashe has slept fitfully. Though her stirring is not enough to wake the others, he's taken last watch every night and has borne witness. Perhaps it was seeing the dead fellow again in the Stilshrine – though Balthier had still seen absolutely nothing, she'd clearly been rattled by it.

A woman of Ashe's character would never let on during the day that she is shaken and continues to be upset about it. Not her – she'd just as soon join a traveling mummers' group than admit to any weakness. But she cannot hide so easily in her dreams. By the time he comes on the watch, she clutches at her blanket with white knuckles and her face is stained with teary streaks. He isn't sure why he hasn't tried to wake her, to convince her to speak of her nightmares and hopefully by doing so, end them. Would she expect him to share his bad dreams in return?

Ashe probably dreams of the man whose ring he yet carries, a man he'd never met or frankly known much about. Balthier dreams of someone he's lost – but that someone is still alive. He dreams of long corridors with flickering lights, of metallic bulkheads and beakers and burners. Of his father's office at Draklor with its organized chaos. Stack of papers here, books piled up there. It is remarkable how much his mind can conjure when he is dreaming. He hasn't been in the place in years and yet he is there so easily in dreams. When they arrive, he'll be able to navigate the place without hesitation.

She lets out a soft cry, but it is not enough to wake the others. He watches her grip her fingers – what seems like a nervous habit during the day is more readily discerned when she does it in sleep. Ashe is seeking a ring that is no longer there, yet she will not let go. The price of sky pirate loyalty. He took the band to prove a point, but she still struggles with her decision. Seeing Rasler again deep within the shrine has probably brought the burden of guilt to compound her worries.

It takes a great deal of will power to remain in place and not go to her. He hasn't quite figured out when he started to care for her. Perhaps it's just been these past few weeks of watching her troubled sleep. There is so much there that one cannot see during the day when her Princess façade is in full effect. But in sleep she is merely a young woman who very much looks her nineteen years. Would he have been capable of all that she has done when he was nineteen? He doubts it. He couldn't do it now.

He'll tell her about Cid, just her. It will be up to her whether or not the others need to know. She keeps pain hidden as he does – she will understand. Perhaps he'll tell her more. Watching tears streak her pale face in the moonlight, he knows he can't hide from her. She needs to know what nethicite truly can do. That it can destroy families and send children running from the comforts of home to uncertain and dangerous places. That nethicite has kept him running to those places for six years.

He sighs, chastising himself for letting his thoughts grow so serious when he could be plotting their big caper. This is why he much prefers air travel. Lots of dials and clouds to distract the mind. Ashe has turned away, thankfully ending the distraction by turning her back to him in sleep.

Balthier lets the crisp mountain air drift in and out of his nostrils, and he keeps the watch.


	4. Last

Our Love to Admire – Last

Balthier/Ashe, PG-13

Inspired by: The Heinrich Maneuver, from Our Love to Admire; Doomsday, Doctor Who

Note: This is not the final story in the series, even though I'm posting out of order.

* * *

_But I don't want to take your heart  
And I don't want a piece of history  
No, I don't want to read your thoughts anymore_

-The Heinrich Maneuver, from Our Love to Admire

* * *

He'd accused her of being a murderer once. And though it was necessary and quite frankly did the whole bloody world a service to rid Ivalice of Cid Bunansa, why can't he quash the guilt? He must fly tomorrow, must use his reflexes and so he cannot drink the feelings away. A tavern full of pirates in mourning for their lost leader and six in the corner with mugs of water. Perhaps their last shared meal, their last chance to clink glasses and wish for a better tomorrow.

If they're to make it to Rabanastre by midday, they must leave at dawn and so their numbers at the Whitecap will soon dwindle. Penelo, still so uncertain about the higher level magicks even though she's the best he's ever seen. Basch, unsure whether or not his brother made it away from Ridorana safely…and wondering why he cares. Vaan, the death of Reddas just one more person dear to him lost in a seemingly endless cycle. Fran, as unreadable as ever but at least something in their circle is constant. And as he sips his water, he cannot look at the Princess for it will surely be his undoing.

She sits beside him, her fingers resting on the oaken bench close enough to grasp and to reassure. But in life or in death tomorrow, the two of them have been living on borrowed time. They storm Bahamut – after that he either returns to the skies that are his home or returns to the earth that he comes from. No sticky gray area, no maybes, no compromises. If all goes well, they'll have Vayne beaten by evening. He can return the ring and be back in Balfonheim in time for a late supper.

He moves his hand away from the temptation of her own and uses it to raise his mug to his lips, the cool water not soothing him the way something more substantial could. Never was very good with attachments. May as well let her believe him a sky pirate through and through – even though he's allowed her to see that it is really not the way of him. It's been a charmed few months, the worst and best of his life. But to continue with her would only be a mess, and they'd grow to loathe one another, surely. The same old tune - Ashe confronts, he runs.

"Balthier?" Vaan inquires, speaking for one of the first times since they'd departed the manse earlier in the evening. "What are you planning to do? You know, when it's over?"

He can almost feel the tension radiating from Ashe beside him, can tell that her mind is going to pick apart any answer he gives. Gazing only at the rim of the mug, he measures his words, making them innocuous to all but the woman he's grown to love. "I'm a sky pirate and always will be. We'll be competitors from now on, Vaan, and don't you forget it."

Vaan chuckles and Penelo joins him. Basch is unaffected, and Fran is silent. But Ashe heard more than the others had.

"I think I'll retire," she tells them all, and there isn't even the slightest quavering in her voice. That is her response to him. Basch rises to escort her back to the manse, and her sudden absence on the bench at his side pains him.

Vaan and Penelo continue eating in thoughtless oblivion while Fran watches him, his eyes focused on the etchings left in the table by generations of pirates before him. Hearts and the names of dozens of women, wyrms and sea monsters, all carved with delicate haste into the sturdy wood. All that remains of leading men history has forgotten. He'll help to leave his own mark on history tomorrow – and then Ashe can forget him, as she should. She's worked too hard for all of this.

But Fran won't look away, and he can sense her questions without her having to voice them aloud. You will fight beside her and then sever it all, Fran asks him with those damned eyes. You will turn your back on it? You will not even try? Coward, she accuses him, rising from the table without saying a single word.

"It's best you children get to bed," he murmurs, and though Vaan groans at being called a child, Penelo seems to sense that something has happened. He waits until he thinks Fran is far enough away to leave the table and wander through the miserable drunks and loose women to the fresh air outside. The walk back to the near-empty manse is a long one, and he plans for tomorrow, envisioning the quickest route to Rabanastre. But thoughts of air currents and velocities and the like keep getting pushed aside by Cid and the threat of Bahamut and the woman he tells himself he should forget.

But they've not yet parted, and they'll still be fighting side by side tomorrow. He wishes he'd had something stronger to drink. He puts on a chipper face for Reddas' guards at the front entrance and even cheerfully wishes Basch good night in the foyer. The room he's been lent for the night lies at the top of the stairs, and with each step, he begins to question his decision. Fran's silent commentary and the empty ache he'd felt when Ashe departed the table are combining and twisting in his mind, urging him to go to her. They've been granted one more night, have they not?

Ashe has taken the room at the end of the hallway, the furthest from his own, and he remembers it from their last visit. He'd claimed her there for the first time, but Balthier sighs, knowing that if anyone has been claimed it is him. Stopping in his room first, he discards his vest and loosens his collar. He runs a hand through his hair, finding little things to occupy himself to delay his walk to the room at the end of the hall, his walk to the end of a life spent in Ashe's company.

With no more items to straighten out or rearrange in nervous agitation, he exits the room and begins to walk. With each footstep he knows he is closer to saying farewell. They'll see one another tomorrow, but it's strictly business then. He moves past his companions' doors and finally halts his progress at the end. All that stands between them now is this door, but will he be able to walk through it?

He lets his fingers drift to the smooth, cool door and traces a small knot in the wood. He says her name in a hoarse whisper, hearing the shifting of weight on the mattress inside as he leans his whole body against the door and presses his ear to it. Standing so close now, he lets his vision focus on some distant shadow in the corner of the dim hallway. He hears the creaking of floorboards from inside as she moves to the door.

It is almost like a paralysis has struck him, and he doesn't move. He listens and hears the slightest scratching noises as thin fingers rest against the other side of the door. There is pressure, and the hinges creak quietly as she seems to be mirroring the same pose, the palm of her hand brushing a spot near the door handle. Separated by inches, he listens to her breathe on the other side, moving his fingertips to the spot where he hears her exhalations.

He closes his eyes, shuts them tightly and listens. Her breathing is uneven and heavy as though she's been crying or screaming into her pillow or whatever it is women do when the men who claim to care for them treat them poorly. What she would not and could not show the others at the Whitecap has seemingly burst from her in some fit of madness, and he hears a sniffle or two as she desperately tries to remain silent and waits for him to apologize or enter the room or at least speak.

Balthier runs the pads of his fingers where her lips must be on the other side, conjuring them in his mind. He cannot touch the soft strands of her hair, cannot rest a possessive palm against her hip. It is one last night, one last chance to be with her – but is that really how they should leave things? Is it not cleaner…is it not simpler to just let it be over? The fingernails on the other side scratch a bit, as though she's clenching her fist against the wood there.

He called her name, summoned her to the door and yet here he remains. He initiated this sorry state of affairs tonight as he initiated their first kiss and their first time together. He realizes that he's started it all, pulling her from the safety of her widowhood and into what others would deem a torrid affair if they knew. He's led her along a slippery slope and though his loyalty to her and her cause are unwavering, he cannot be anything more. Surely she knows and understands that. She must be a Queen.

But her resolve falters after so many months of hiding her pain so well. It is there for mere seconds, an exhale of breath that gets away from her, at the last moment becoming a sob. She bites it back almost immediately, and he hears her clap her hand over her mouth. But the cry has hurt his ears and damned him. Go to her, his mind tells him. Go to her.

Opening his eyes, he moves away to return to his room, leaving her door without letting his fingers brush the handle.


	5. Admissions

Our Love to Admire – Admissions

Balthier/Ashe, PG-13

Inspired by: All Fired Up, from Our Love to Admire; Unfinished Business, from Battlestar Galactica

* * *

_I am astride you with desire_

_The fault line, no crutch, no stall  
I can bind you with no ties_

-All Fired Up, from Our Love to Admire

* * *

"We're the worst mark hunters in history," she mutters, tugging the blanket away and over herself.

He laughs and tugs back. "Now, now. Sometimes they get away from the very best of us." He presses a quick kiss to her sweaty shoulder, relishing the feel of her warm skin against his own.

"Is that what you plan to tell Basch?" she inquires. "That it simply got away?"

"That would be the plan," he explains. No need to tell the good Captain that pursuing the mark was just the excuse he used to get her away from the others for a night.

Ashe sighs and elbows him. "He is not as easily fooled as you may think, Balthier. He knows precisely what we're up to."

"How? How could he know?" Shoving the blanket down a bit, he moves her onto her back once more and lets his fingers splay across the pale skin of her stomach. It is dark inside their tent on the Steppe and rather chilly, but she allows it.

She rests her own hand atop his, entwining her fingers with his. "Because he was not born yesterday. And it's not as if you were very subtle about it."

"All I said was…"

"…the Princess and I will hunt it in the north of the Steppe. You and Vaan take the south."

He chuckles. "And how does that remotely imply that I had other intentions?" He can sense that she is rolling her eyes. "Come now, we make a good team!"

She fumbles in the dark for his face and pulls him down to her. She kisses him until she is satisfied. "Not for mark hunting. We didn't even try." That was true. He'd somehow convinced her to spend her day with him out of the sun. They needed a bit of a break, at least mentally. "When we return, Basch will check your gun when you're sleeping to see if it's even been fired."

"He wouldn't dare touch my effects!"

"He _would_ dare."

"Fine." He throws the blanket off the both of them and stumbles around in the dark for his gun. "This is for Basch then! For him and his perverted and undoubtedly correct suspicions!"

Throwing the tent flap open, the night air is positively freezing but he reminds himself that he has something warm to return to. He can hear her shouting at him from inside. "If you shoot yourself or attract the attention of beasts, I am not helping!"

He aims at the nothing in the distance and fires off a shot. "Basch fon Ronsenburg!" he screams, feeling the chill and wishing he'd thought to at least put on his trousers before running out into the dark. "There's something I want you to know!"

"Balthier!" he hears Ashe screaming again. "You're going to freeze to death, you stupid pirate!"

"Basch!" he cries again, wondering just how far his voice will carry in the night. "There is a beauty mark at the very top of the Lady Ashe's hip!" He fires off another shot. "Don't you want to know how I could possibly…"

She's beside him then, pulling on his arm. "Stop that, someone will hear you!"

He shouts as loud as he possibly can, so loud that it physically hurts to do so. "I don't care who hears how much I enjoy _ravishing_ you!"

"Balthier!"

Even with the cold air on his skin, he feels a rush of adrenaline. These are things he wouldn't dare say in broad daylight, especially not in Basch's presence, but he knows them to be true. He rubs her arms to try and warm her. "The woman who would stand against an Empire is afraid? I'm not stopping until you give Basch a shout."

She complains once more, but her heart isn't in it. There's humor in her voice now that he so rarely gets to hear. "Balthier, stop!"

"Well, you're not shouting, Princess, so I have to keep informing the world, lest they continue to live in ignorance." He cups his hand over his mouth and shouts once more. "The sky pirate Balthier, the most infamous rogue and ladykiller has finally met his match! Furthermore…"

"Fine!" she seethes through gritted teeth. She shoves his hands away and closes her eyes. "Basch! I like…" she begins, her voice cracking and not very loud. He's known her to yell at him at a much higher volume when in mixed company. She's holding out on him. He laughs at her, and she scowls. "I, the Lady Ashe of Dalmasca…"

"Go on," he cheers her. He would jump up and down like a boy if he could. He feels as though he's been seized by an uncontrollable power, as if the stars above can absorb all of his secrets and keep them safe. These are things that neither can admit in the company of their companions, but saying them has already brought him happiness.

Her voice rings out loud and clear. "I, the Lady Ashe of Dalmasca, have been unwittingly trapped…"

"Unwittingly trapped?" he teases.

"I willfully and purposefully enjoy the amorous attentions of a sky pirate!" she cries finally, and he watches a goofy smile emerge on her face. But she masks it quickly as she realizes what she's actually admitted, although to no one in particular.

He grins and lowers the gun. "Well, the secret's out, and the gun has been fired." She is hopping from foot to foot and clutching her arms about her body, and he can almost feel her embarrassment. "It's damn cold! Why are you keeping me out here, Princess?"

Ashe pushes him back into the tent, taking the gun from his hands and setting it down. "Are you happy now? Have you made enough of a fool of yourself?"

He still feels this strange giddiness. "Am I a fool for shouting to the world what I know to be true?"

She lies back down and groans. "Yes."

He's still a bit cold, but that's nothing she can't fix. "Then let me be a fool." He knows his touch must be like ice, and she whimpers in annoyance as he joins her on the ground once more. His fingers are in her hair, on her face, on whatever he can grasp. Her lips are warm, and she keeps him there, refusing to let him ramble any further or shout more secrets to Basch. Perhaps one of them would shout something neither is yet ready to voice out loud. He lets his thumb brush along the beauty mark he announced to the night, enjoying the feeling of her beneath him and around him. Willfully and purposefully.


End file.
